girls forgive my human mind
by minismores
Summary: Six moments that lead up to and celebrate the relationship between Fleur and Hermione. Mtf!Hermione, AU, Fleurmione


**Title** : girls forgive my human mind

Or - Five Times Fleur Tried to Say Important Things (And the One Time Somebody Figured it Out)

 **Author** : minismores

 **Fandom** : Harry Potter

 **Length** : 4k+

 **Summary** : Six moments that lead up to and celebrate the relationship between Fleur and Hermione. Mtf!Hermione, AU, Fleurmione

One-

Fleur had always been one of those people who saw life as a before and after moment. The before of Gabrielle, when Maman was swollen and slow and glowing with the force of her magic pulsing right under the skin. The after, of the red, squirmy creature, peering up at her with the focused eyes of a Veela – completely blue eyes, with no pupil or whites, just a little rim of red from her crying, her face scrunched up with her wailing. The life of before Beaxbatons; playing on the beach with Gabrielle and her cousins and the few village children, reading in the family study, going into town and observing the Muggle children at the store in their shopping carts.

She understood, by then, that even just going into town was something – unique to her mother's people. Her Papa was working at the ministry and they'd left for the Delacour clan's homeland of the Alps almost immediately, when it was discovered he would be gone for a while – a whole two weeks. Her mother was not desolate, as she almost always was when he was gone, pining and hysteric and ranting about how he had to have another family, had to have left them, and what were they supposed to do, except that Papa didn't and always came back to big smooching kisses and large meals that turned into her screaming at him but he would stand there and take her shrieks and dodge her thrown items and drag her down to the floor as she wailed and then he would talk to her as softly as one would a frightened animal until she stopped and would sob softly and Papa would carry her up to bed like he sometimes did Gabrielle. Fleur and Gabrielle would stand nearby, sometimes holding one another, but mostly they had gotten used to it and understood this was something different about their mother, even among her people, eating their dinner and gathering the unbroken dishes.

Going home was always good for Maman – going to her real home. There were cousins who could take them for the day, would talk about their clan's traditions and how things were possible for them that other witches couldn't even do; their history and the village feasts of fresh game and wild berries and vegetables for the first of the summer storms and the last of the summer sun. That was the before and after of how she knew her family was different, even from other wizarding families.

When they were back with her Papa, Gabrielle babbled about their trip, about their cousins and aunts and how there were no boys in the Veela world – and Maman would correct her gently, would say there were no girls either, really, that gender was not for their world – and she could see Papa's face was slowly closing off, the sadness was gathering in the furrow of his brow and the bitten lower lip, and his soft face (Papa was so pretty, so very pretty, with his long curly hair and snub nose and full lips she had inherited but not his gorgeous brown skin) was turning hard but only on the inside.

"Fleur?" He asked, finally, when Gabrielle had exhausted her words and he was gathering her curly hair into a ponytail. "Tell me, what did you do?"

She thought about telling him the magic she had learned to do with her hands and eyes, that made all the birds her friends, that made feathers sprout along her chest and back and her eyes turn all blue and the sky like her home.

Fleur stared at him for what felt like an eternity and then it was shortened to a single moment. She shook her head. "Nothing. It was fun but I like it here."

His relieved smile made holding herself back worth it.

Two –

Fleur had not understood that she was different from her family too until she was twelve and at Beauxbatons and had fallen in what felt like love. There was a beautiful girl in the class above her with freckles dotted across her face like constellations and sweetness in her voice and she always gave Fleur a smile when they saw one another in the hallways. She would sigh softly when she thought about her at lunch, pushing her salad and soup around, drinking her water and missing her mouth when she saw the girl.

"You've got a crush," Said Madeline and Fleur ignored her. Madeline was not her best friend but she tolerated her well enough because she could be funny and most of the time left her alone when she wanted to be left alone and did not follow after her, hoping that her beauty would extend enough that the upper year boys would look at them too and wink and ask if they had the weekend free. Fleur never had a free weekend; she found projects to do so the lurking boys would disappear from the depths of the library or the common space, little nooks and crannies to be found in the big castle so she could read and practice her spells in peace.

"Is Jacques that cute?" Asked Chloe, teasing them with her little gap toothed smile.

Fleur sneered. Jacques was sitting as close as he could be to the girl whose name she didn't know but had the most wonderful hands, fingers extended to wrap around the stem of her water glass as elegantly as anything Fleur had ever seen. She watched, jealousy burning in her stomach, as he pushed his hair off his high forehead to smile at the girl and cut a look her way with his bug eyes and his funny looking face.

She pushed her lunch away, sipping more of her water to sooth her stomach.

"It is Jacques, isn't it?" Madeline pestered her. Fleur wanted her to shut up, but Chloe interpreted her sour face as a truth and laughed, "You do have a crush on him!"

The other girls around them turned to look, hearing the magical world, and Fleur burned under their attention, too strong for her to say the aching "no" in her throat. Later, Jacques would ask her if she wanted to be his girl and she would push him and run, and she understood, hiding in the broom closet, that a girl who liked girls was not normal.

Three –

Reaching seventeen was supposed to be a big deal but she couldn't find it in her to be enthused. Seventeen and kissed just once, just crushes on unattainable girls and pretending that she liked boys except when it was too hard to, and she would slip up and give a soft smile to the girl who clouded her mind's eye and they would smile back and sometimes she wondered if they liked other girls too but was always too scared to say anything – even if she understood that normal did not mean happy. The girl who had kissed her had not even known the real her, had spent a day in the sun and the fields between their summer homes and had kissed her and ran, laughing the whole way. Fleur had wanted to run after her and ask if she meant it but was rooted to the spot, touching her lips.

Perhaps if she were to find a pretty boy instead, and close her eyes, she would be okay, Fleur mused, although she didn't think her family would care one way or another. But even with their approval, the world was huge and scary and she didn't belong to the mountains or sky, not fully, at least.

"Hogwarts," Gabrielle cheered next to her when the big castle was in view, even though she'd been yawning and complaining about the English countryside not ten minutes before. The students lined up so that when their horses landed, they could exit gracefully among the weird English students. She could see that many of them were pasty in the moon light and wondered if England really did lack as much sun as the comedians claimed. Gabrielle nearly bounced next to her, and Fleur wrapped an arm around her shoulders to keep her close in the cool evening, eyeing the crowd cautiously.

The English students streamed into their overlarge castle – far too much castle for those few students – and Madam Maxine led them in afterwards, the big brutes from Durmstrang behind them.

The dinner was too heavy. Her stomach felt swollen just looking at all the fatty foods and she hunted around for the bouillabaisse while Gabrielle consumed her weight in mashed potatoes. The one at their table was demolished, and the one ahead, but the farther one in red and gold seemed to have some. "I will be right back," She fairly shouted to her sister and Gabrielle nodded, a piece of chicken in her hand like a savage.

The dining area was bustling with students and their loud talking but behind her was the hush of jealousy and hormones. She nearly rolled her eyes at the predictable pattern but continued to the long table. A Black teenager with lots and lots of dark kinky hair was sitting next to a boy with flat red hair and another boy with black hair that stuck up at every angle, and the bouillabaisse was next to them.

"Excuse me?" She said politely. The three turned to her and she was surprised to see that the Black girl wasn't looking at her jealously, but blankly, with huge deep brown eyes framed by the longest lashes she had ever seen on anyone. The red haired boy had the drooling look of most men and the dark haired boy seemed rather oblivious to the entire thing, his green eyes far away.

The Black girl's hair was pushed back from her face. She had an adorable nose and the prettiest, fullest mouth Fleur had ever seen, her bottom lip pouting ever so slightly, but matching her high cheekbones. She had a long, elegant neck, her Adam's apple faintly visible above her perfect Windsor's knot and bleached white shirt.

"Yes?" Said the girl, moving so her long thigh dragged to the outside of the seat, her leg hair just developing. Her voice was rich and smooth, crackly at the middle of the word that edged to deeper but otherwise sweet. She had the type of voice, her father's mother would say, that made it seem like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Fleur blinked hard, and then managed, "Are you finished with the bouillabaisse?"

The young woman handed it to her with a tight smile and she choked, "Thank you," before scurrying back to her table.

Beautiful, she thought, and still thought that night lying in bed, and the next morning when she caught sight of her stumbling in at breakfast with her hair up into a ponytail and a perfectly made uniform but her left loafer was slightly scuffed at the tip and her hand around the worn strap of her leather book bag. So she was real. Human.

"Stunning," She sighed, and one of the Hogwarts girls next to her said, "Yeah, his eyes are absolutely gorgeous."

The urge to defend herself against misinterpreted words was strong, but she let it go. There was to be no after, she thought, looking at the girl who was spooning oatmeal into her mouth with one hand and flipping through a book with another.

Four –

They kept seeing one another. Fleur wasn't used to prolong exposure to her crushes, but it seemed every time she turned around she was looking at the bookish girl – Hermione J. Granger. She had discovered her name reading it upside down one of her long essays and held it to herself as carefully as possible. She was her mother's child; beautiful things held her heart and did not easily give it back.

Hermione was as smart as she was beautiful, she found out, listening in on conversations and occasionally asking an innocuous question. Most assumed she was getting close to Hermione to talk to Harry but she couldn't concern herself with him. He was a young boy, full of rage and sorrow the way only hurt things could be, and had to be so they would recover, but she would leave the mooning to Gabrielle, who wrote "Mrs. Harry Potter" "Mrs. Gabrielle T. Potter" across her essays when she was distracted and thinking of him.

Fleur had scratched "Hermione Delacour" on her wrist on a whim in the library, herself, the next day, thinking of bouncing curls and dark skin as she rounded a book case, when Hermione bumped into her with a stack of books.

"Sorry," they both said, and Fleur bent down to help the shorter girl. When they both stood, she saw she was only a few centimeters taller – Hermione was one of the few girls who reached her nose when standing straight, rather than her chin or shoulder, but the pride in her eyes made it seem as if they were the same height.

Fleur handed the books back, with what she hoped was a normal smile, although she felt it erred on goofy. Hermione took them and tucked them under her arm pit, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly that Fleur wouldn't have been able to tell if she hadn't been looking at her so often. She reached a hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear and the books clattered down as Hermione's large hand curled around her palm and brought her wrist into plain view.

Her eyes widened and if it was possible to blush with such dark skin, she would have. Fleur's face burned with her embarrassment and she tried to break free to leave, but Hermione's grip was tight around the delicate bones of her wrist. Bird bones, her Papa would laugh, as he twirled her around like she weighed nothing.

"S'why you've been staring," Said Hermione, and she had forgotten to lighten her voice so it came out almost as deep as the Ravenclaw boy who wanted her to go to Hogsmeade with him – certainly deeper than Harry's – but the words far more important.

She swallowed her fear, and said the word that was begging to creep out of her mouth, "Yes."

Hermione let go of her wrist, a puzzled look on her face, and she crossed her arms. She had powerful shoulders, the kind that belonged to people who were used to holding the world up, and her jawline jutted out as she thought, nipping at her upper lip with her bottom teeth.

"Why?" She finally asked, her eyebrows close together. Fleur stared at her and thought of all the things she had wanted to say for three weeks – you are lovely and you are smart and you say such clever things when you think no one is listening and you are so loyal to your friends and I have never seen someone so interested in history and magical theory as you are and when I hear you speak English, it makes the language seem worth something and so many and's bumped around her brain and her stupid mouth wouldn't let anything out.

Fleur shrugged helplessly.

Hermione smiled, slowly at first, then big so her teeth showed, and reached down again to pick up her books and Fleur followed, like she was connected, and Hermione looked her deep in her eyes, like she could see into her soul, and said, "Come to my table for lunch tomorrow."

And Fleur did.

Five –

Letters were such an inconvenient manner of communicating, Fleur found quickly in the long distance relationship. It wasn't so long, not really, because she was due in London in a week for her first day at Gringott's but inbetween her mother's sobbing fits and Gabrielle's frosty silence, she felt it was the longest week of her life. She missed Hermione acutely, even with the girl's jacket in her trunk with a stasis charm and the stuffed otter on her bed. It wasn't the same as walking around the lake with her, holding her hand in the halls, sneaking kisses when they were alone, feeling Hermione harden against her thigh and then get hot with embarrassment when she realized what was happening and Fleur would have to kiss her salty tears away and assure her that she was just as girl as anyone else.

She missed the nighttime picnics most of all. Hermione was a sneaky little thing and would come outside so they could sit at the edge between the lake and the forest and stare at the sky. She would curl up on Hermione's chest and breathe in her scent and they would talk about the stars and what was out there.

"Glory," Had been Fleur's first thought. Veela believed that those who did right by their gods would live forever in the hearts of their people and in the land of the gods that lay behind the blue of the sky. Hermione had listened attentively as Fleur explained Veela death rites and the wailing song of mourning that turned into the gods welcoming song to those who made it, and what Avgerwa was supposed to be like – surrounded by your family and friends and lovers who had made it and eternally loved. Hermione loved to hear her talk about the Veela and how close they were, even among magical 'creatures', almost as much as Fleur loved to hear how electricity and airplanes and what Sudan was like.

They knew so much of each other, but Fleur felt that a lifetime wouldn't be enough to probe Hermione's inner most thoughts and desires, the ones she kept locked up tight. There was a constant burning in her eyes, the wheels of her mind moving, even when she was at her most content, and Fleur had the feeling that this above her physical looks had been what attracted her to Hermione.

By the end of May, Hermione had been tall enough that they didn't have to move anyways but forwards to kiss one another. Hermione was only two years younger than her but was shooting up like a weed and nearly double her weight, almost all of it muscle. Her breasts were growing, though slowly, from a combination of potion based hormones and her own magic pumping the needed hormones into her body, and she was very self-conscious, which Fleur found adorable. She would squirm when Fleur touched her over her clothes and then make soft little cooing sounds as Fleur sucked on her neck and left hickeys down to her clavicle and become so embarrassed she would nearly cry.

Apolline would only be soothed by helping Fleur move into her apartment in Muggle London. She paced, nervously, and her hands fluttered as they arranged the furniture and put Fleur's clothes away, even when they walked to the nearby market and garnered attention from everyone. The cashier stared through Fleur's t-shirt as she bagged the groceries. Even walking, the woman sniffled occasionally and gave Fleur teary eyes, a pout on her lips.

"Maman," She said, finally, at the front of the Leaky Cauldron, "it's time to go." The Floo there was international and would take her straight to the Delacour home, rather than the rigmarole of Fleur's apartment to the ministry to the international floo and then home. Maman looked pathetic but nodded, knowing the truth, and kissed her cheeks softly. Fleur watched her enter, saw the many handkerchiefs offered when people saw her rosy face, and then the door closed between them.

Fleur walked home from there alone and made it in only a few minutes. The apartment was rather empty but she could see that there was potential, a place for her to really grow. She would set up her momentos from Beauxbatons next, Fleur thought, as she finished putting her groceries up and her clothes were folded with a flick of her wand. She was settled on her coach, reading a book, several hours later when there was a knock on her door. Fleur set it aside, her palms sweating, and hurried to open it.

Hermione was standing on the other side, her broad shoulders filling up all the available space, and her sweet mouth right in touching distance as she grinned broadly.

"Hi," Hermione said and her voice was the one she only used around Fleur. It had deepened in the scant few weeks they had been apart, and she'd grown another inch all around, so Fleur felt both dwarfed and comforted. Her pretty girl was growing every time she looked away and she resolved to never look away if she could help it.

Fleur pulled her in, the door closing behind her, and leapt into Hermione's arms, wrapping her legs around the trim waist. She smothered her dark face with kisses and beamed at Hermione's laugh.

"You're so gorgeous," Fleur replied, tangling her hands in Hermione's hair. Hermione's eyes were soft and glowing and buried her face in Fleur's neck. You are so precious to me, she thought, but said nothing as their breathing fell into sync.

1 (Six) –

Hermione always knew when Fleur was hesitating to say something. She wasn't much for spiritualism but had always assumed it was what had made her very first girlfriend her wife and what had never made her worry about what else she could be missing. She had been very lucky in that regard, she thought occasionally, but only when she was looking at Fleur early in the mornings, when she was still asleep, and her perfect hair was spread across their bed like spun gold and her hands stretched to touch Hermione. She would kiss her forehead and then her aquiline nose and dart away to the bathroom before Fleur could wake up.

She had learned in their years together that sometimes Fleur just – didn't say what she was thinking. Her eyes would dart back and forth and her brow would furrow and her lips would purse as she thought of something and then that would all fade away to a careful blankness. Some of it was anxiety but other times, it was just the difference between the two; Hermione was blunt and uncaring of the damage her words did, normally, while Fleur held words to an extremely high degree and always thought carefully before she spoke. So Hermione was aware that Fleur was holding something back but wouldn't say anything to her until she was sure her wife was comfortable.

The obviousness of her secret was what made Hermione exasperated, as she rolled out of bed at four AM to go hold her wife's hair up as she threw up. She scrubbed her eyes, yawning, and grabbed a hair tie to put Fleur's choppy hair up. She kneeled next to her, rubbing her back gently.

"Mi," Fleur murmured, teary-eyed, and pressed her flushed cheek to Hermione's forearm.

She yawned again, "I'm here, baby," and when she saw Fleur was done, flushed the toilet and helped her to get into the shower with her toothbrush and toothpaste. Fleur wouldn't feel clean until after she'd bathed. She rubbed her jaw, watching her wife shower through barely opened eyes, and then rubbed the back of her neck.

Fleur had always been ethereal, from the moment she saw her travel tired, unamused, and flustered that first night at Hogwarts. She was tall and graceful and willow thin and gently curved the way women were supposed to be and as softly spoken as the first snow flurries. There was the slightest curve of her shoulders now – overtired, she characterized, and made a note to call into Ollivander's and say that Fleur would be coming in the afternoon, rather than early morning – and a little scar on her thigh from the time they'd made love visiting Fleur's Veela clan and Fleur had cut herself on a rock and wouldn't say anything until the next morning, and the little pooch of her belly where the baby was growing.

Hermione wondered when she would say she was pregnant and grabbed the towel to dry Fleur off. Fleur let herself be pampered and dressed in one of Hermione's t-shirts that dwarfed her and lifted off her feet to be cuddled in bed, which was really a testament to her exhaustion.

"You always make me feel so small," Fleur told her, eyes hazy, and from her it was the most sincere statement Hermione had ever heard. Hermione was bigger than most but understood what was really being said – you make me feel as if I never need to try.

She laid on her back and Fleur curled up on her chest, her silky hair tickling her neck, and she stared at the ceiling as Fleur immediately sunk into slumber. Hermione stayed awake a little longer, carding her fingers through Fleur's hair, wondering what it would be like to be a mother, to change diapers, to see Fleur swell to unseen proportions, if Fleur would want to have another baby.

Fleur sighed softly and slurred, "Turn your brain off. I hear you thinking." She was asleep again before the sentence was even finished.

Hermione chuckled and kissed the crown of her head. I love you, she thought, her chest nearly bursting with what she wanted to say.

"Love you," She said, just to hear the words, and Fleur sighed in her sleep.


End file.
